


Krycek Interlude 4

by WPAdmirer



Series: Chicago Stories II [9]
Category: E.R., X-Files - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:10:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WPAdmirer/pseuds/WPAdmirer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krycek meets Dale Edson. Too bad for Dale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Krycek Interlude 4

**Author's Note:**

> AUTHOR'S NOTES: I got tired of waiting for some good John Carter slash, and there's never enough Skinner fic to suit me.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: It's not the author's intention to infringe upon or profit from the characters created and owned by Chris Carter, 1013 Productions or the Fox Network, nor Warner Brothers and NBC. Skinner and Carter were borrowed temporarily and returned almost immediately, relatively unharmed. Krycek is a not as unwelcome as usual guest.
> 
> SPECIAL THANKS: To KiMeriKal and Crysothemis for beta reading and friendship.

There was still no sign of Edson at his apartment, but Krycek was tired of doing all his waiting outside and in his car. There was a nice warm apartment, not being used, and it was his for the taking. So, by God, he took.

The building had no security to speak of, which Krycek was beginning to think was typical of Chicago. If he had more time, he'd check out a couple of the banks and see if they had the same apparently midwestern, lackadaisical attitude about locks and alarms that he'd found thus far. It was easier than breaking into Mulder's apartment. And breaking into Mulder's apartment was akin to breaking into a ceramic piggy-bank. A little messy for the owner, but no problem at all for the person doing the entering.

Inside he found pretentious red wines and single malt scotch. Shit. What the fuck was it with this professional types that they had to all drink the same shit? Not a bottle of vodka to be found. No beer. Beer was probably too plebeian for the good doc.

Krycek started opening doors and soon enough he found what he was looking for—golf clubs. Jesus F. Christ, the shit probably wore name brand jockeys. Nothing irritated Krycek more than people who had to have fucking designer names on their goddamn underwear. If a woman's checking that out, she's in bed with you for the wrong reason.

And personally, if Krycek had ever found himself in bed with a woman who checked for fucking labels in his underwear, he'd probably have to kill her. Just leave her lying right there looking all surprised, like she expected to get dicked really good, and didn't know what had gone wrong. He snorted. He bet that Fowley bitch checked for labels. She could probably tell him what kind that cigarette smoking bastard wore.

Eeewwwww. Krycek shivered. That was too gross to even think about.

Krycek selected a 9 iron with good balance. This would work fine.

He pushed things around in the refrigerator until he found some diet colas way in the back. Diet. Oh, yeah, this Edson really knew how to live. Whoo-hoo. Hot time party boy. Right.

Finding the remote, Krycek plopped down on the couch and turned on the television. He idly flipped through channels when suddenly his eyes lit up and his thumb froze on the remote. Oh, this was just too damn good. Dale Edson had cable porno. Krycek laughed out loud. He flipped ahead one station and found more porno. Three channels in all, featuring everything from romanticized bare tits and straight intercourse to shaved pussies and double-headed dildos.

Krycek rested the golf club across his legs and watched the contortions on the most adventurous channel. At one point, turning his head almost horizontal as he tried to figure out how the guy could manage to have his dick in the chick while she had her head between his legs and was licking…Good God in heaven. Either that was trick photography or that was the most limber woman on the fucking planet.

The locks on the door clicked and Krycek put down the remote and took out his gun. He had it pointed to the door when Dale Edson walked in.

"What the fuck are you doing here?"

Krycek shook his head and sighed. Why did they always act aggressive when a fucking gun was pointing at them? It just made you really want to shoot them for being so obnoxiously stupid.

"Sit down, asshole, before I blow a hole in you the size of your fucking ego."

"No."

Fuck. Krycek shot Edson in the knee and took pleasure in watching him crumple to the floor screaming. He got up and dragged him to the chair, throwing him in it with no concern for how he landed.

"Okay, you're sitting down. Now we can get started." Krycek put the gun up and began swinging the club back and forth. "Really nice club. What's your handicap?"

Edson didn't answer.

Krycek shrugged. It didn't matter anyway. Edson would never play again. "I want the original and the copies of the medical file on John Carter. Be smart, don't piss me off."

Edson still didn't answer. Krycek could hear him breathing, so he was alive. Time to check and see if he was conscious. He swung the club and connected solidly with the good knee. Edson's scream rang off the walls. Krycek grimaced and tilted his head back, waiting for the sound to stop ringing in his ears. Edson was making little sobbing sounds now.

"Good, you're awake. Talk to me and I'll make this visit short. I'm sure you'd prefer that. Where are the copies of the file?"

"Locked safe. Closet floor."

"Key or combination?"

"Key."

"And?"

Edson pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket and held them out. Krycek took them. There weren't too many and he started to end Edson's misery. Then he thought better of it.

"Got a cell phone?"

Edson pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over.

"You're getting smarter by the minute."

The apartment phone was in the kitchen and Edson wouldn't be walking to it anytime soon. Krycek took the keys and went into the bedroom. The safe as in the back of the closet. Once Krycek had it open he found copies of the file and what was obviously the original. It had a hand-written note from someone at the hospital in Richmond.

He took the file and walked back into the living room. Edson had laid his head back against the chair. He was sweating and panting. There was no sense in making him suffer any more. And he'd been cooperative, in his own fashion.

Krycek tucked the folder under his left arm and pulled out his gun.

Edson opened his eyes. "Who are you?"

"No one you need to know."

The shot was quick and the kill clean. Krycek picked up the can of diet cola and started to leave. Then it occurred to him that the set of clubs in the front closet really were too nice to leave behind. He took the bag out, dropped the iron back into it and headed out the door.

He'd always wanted to learn to play the game.


End file.
